


I tread my troubled track

by yourbuttervoicedbeau (kiwiana)



Series: Kink!verse [8]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Angst and Porn, BDSM, Canon Compliant, Canon decrees a happy ending but that will be a future instalment, Episode: s04e07 The Barbecue, Hand Jobs, M/M, POV David Rose, Past Drug Addiction, Past Drug Use, Patrick Brewer: Service Top, Porn with Feelings, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Safeword Use, Semi-private sex, Sometimes our sexual likes and dislikes change and that’s okay!, The mortifying ideal of being known: the David Rose story, This one ends on an angst cliffhanger, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:15:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25068994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/pseuds/yourbuttervoicedbeau
Summary: When he arrives at Patrick’s that night the table is set for dinner, and the whip is sitting innocuously on the coffee table.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Kink!verse [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1768552
Comments: 54
Kudos: 209





	I tread my troubled track

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to another kink!verse instalment! Reading the earlier stories is not required (though, as the very biased author I obviously recommend it); they stand alone and are essentially canon-compliant (just with a different first meeting and their relationship being a month longer than canon) so that folks can tap out of any kinks/fetishes/etc that aren't for them as we go.
> 
> Canon, unfortunately, decrees this one doesn't end happily (though we know it’s all okay in the end). If you don't want an angsty cliffhanger, best to wait until the next two instalments are posted (should be within 48 hours) and read all three once we’re through Angst Central.
> 
> Please assume that if you don't see something being negotiated on-screen, they've discussed it off-screen. Also, just a reminder to please not take your kink advice from fanfic. Do your research first, and not from AO3.
> 
> Title is from Amy Winehouse.

Patrick has a habit of dropping borderline pornographic information into conversation in front of other people and then smirking when David gets flustered; it would be annoying if it wasn’t so goddamn hot.  _ I watched that video you sent me _ as they wait for dessert at the café.  _ By the way, that order we placed last week arrived _ while standing in Patrick’s kitchen with Ray setting the table for dinner. 

_ You know, I’ve been practicing a lot with that whip and I’m getting pretty good _ in the store, just two seconds before the bell chimes over the door and Jocelyn enters with a sunny smile. She chatters away to both of them as she shops and David doesn’t absorb a word, too distracted by Patrick’s casual announcement to even be horrified when she buys no less than four bottles of massage oil.

As soon as she’s gone Patrick brushes past him into the back room with a small smirk, and David immediately follows him.

“Don’t you think you should stay behind the counter and wait for customers, David?” Patrick teases, but he’s already sitting down on the couch.

“We’ll hear the bell,” David says dismissively, climbing into his lap. “Please tell me you have a plan to put this practice to good use.”

“Still working on that part,” Patrick admits and David groans, dropping his head to Patrick’s shoulder. Then he turns, trailing light kisses up the side of Patrick’s neck.

“Will you tell me about the practicing, at least?” he murmurs into the skin behind Patrick’s ear, and is gratified to feel him shudder.

“Well—” Patrick starts, and then the bell above the door chimes. 

“Fuck’s  _ sake,” _ David hisses, climbing awkwardly off Patrick before heading back through to the store.

* * *

It’s over a week before they finally find an opportunity, and it comes in the form of the Elm Valley Regional Realtors’ Association’s combination awards ceremony and Hallowe’en party. 

“He won’t be gone overnight,” Patrick shrugs. “But he swears up and down he won’t be home until 10pm at the very earliest. We can wait for a time when he’s out all night, if you want.”

“The fuck we will,” David growls.

* * *

When he arrives at Patrick’s that night the table is set for dinner, and the whip is sitting innocuously on the coffee table. David stares at it while they eat, anticipation running hot under his skin. They do the dishes in companionable silence and as soon as the last pan is put away Patrick is crowding up around him, pressing him back into the countertop and kissing him hungrily.

“Go into the living room, take off your clothes,” Patrick murmurs against his lips, and it takes David a moment to communicate the message to his suddenly weak knees. When he gets into the living room he strips quickly and efficiently, folding up his clothes and placing them on the armchair before surveying the room. He knows why Patrick has them here rather than the bedroom — there’s enough space for Patrick to stand back from him and wield the whip if he bends over the back of the sofa. When Patrick joins him he’s doing exactly that, bent over at the waist with his arms gripping the couch cushions.

“Oh, that’s so good, David, that’s perfect,” Patrick murmurs as he picks up the whip. “How many do you want tonight?”

“Twelve,” David answers immediately. Unlike the other types of impact play, he has a standard answer for this that he sticks to.

“Sure, we can do that,” Patrick says warmly. He comes up behind David and runs a soft hand down his back, reaching down to press a kiss near the base of his spine before he steps back, almost to the opposite wall. “Count for me, okay? And tell me when you’re ready.”

David takes a deep breath and relaxes into the couch. “I’m good. Green.”

There’s a swish and a deafening crack. David’s first thought is  _ Wow, he really has been practicing; _ it hits him dead in the centre of one ass cheek as if there was a target painted there. His second thought is  _ Motherfucking ow, _ and he waits for the pleasure to come rolling in behind the pain.

It doesn’t. There’s just a burning, radiating sensation that feels like it covers much more space than he knows it does.

“One,” he gasps.

This is fine. It’s fine. It will start feeling good soon, he’s pretty sure.

_ Crack! _ The same agony, but on the other side. He can’t fault Patrick’s technique; if anything he’s pretty sure Patrick is holding back, because the actual impact isn’t hard. It’s what comes after it that hurts like hell.

“Two.”

The third time, Patrick hits him right at the top of the thigh and David arches his whole back up involuntarily. 

“Three,” he hisses, sucking air in through his teeth to try and alleviate the sharpness of it. 

“David,” Patrick says, “what’s your colour?”

David hesitates. He’s nowhere near needing to tap out, and he thinks slowing down might actually make it worse. “Green,” he says after a moment, but he doesn’t hear the whip move.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Patrick asks cautiously.

“I’m sure, green, give me another,” he rushes out. The sooner they can get through the dozen, the sooner it’s over. God, he can’t remember it _ever_ hurting this much. He tenses up, and then Patrick strikes a spot very close to the first one and his “Four” is more a wail of pain than an actual word.

Behind him, Patrick stills. “Okay, David, he says quietly. “I think that’s enough.”

“No, I’m fine,” David says through gritted teeth. “I can take it.”

“I’m not saying you can’t take it, I’m just—”

“I’ll let you know when I can’t handle it anymore, so—”

“Red!” Patrick snaps, and David freezes. 

“Okay,” he says slowly. He stands up, wincing, and turns around to find Patrick frowning at him, mouth pinched and whip hanging loosely by his side. 

“I just meant,” David says after a moment, “that I wasn’t close to needing to safeword. You could have kept going.” 

“But you were hating it more than enjoying it.”

David shrugs. “So?”

“So?” Patrick sounds as close to angry as David has ever heard him. “So I don’t  _ want _ that, David! This is only good for me if you like it! Your safeword is meant to be a last resort, not an end goal for me, and—” he stops and takes a deep breath before continuing, “and from the little you’ve told me about your history, I genuinely don’t think that’s how you see it. And that worries me.”

David stares at him. “Oh,” he says, head spinning. Because he and Patrick haven’t talked about any of this; they locked it up at Stevie’s and neither of them has made any attempt at unlocking it again. But Patrick, apparently, pays enough attention to piece together, from his offhand comments and his little jokes and the occasional dig from Alexis, a scarily accurate picture of what David’s sex life looked like before. 

And he’s right. His entire adult life, up until he came to Schitt’s Creek, he was surrounded by people who just took what they needed from him, sexually or otherwise. And it’s not like he’s had to safeword out a  _ lot _ in his life, but... apparently, it’s happened enough that he’s lost sight of what it should be for. 

A little stunned, he tries to sit down on the end of the sofa and immediately regrets it. “Holy  _ fuck,” _ he hisses. 

Patrick presses his lips into a thin line. “Why don’t you go up to my room, David.” It’s not a question. “I’ll grab the antiseptic cream.”

David gathers his clothes before walking up the stairs, wincing with every step, still deep in thought. Patrick doesn’t want to take. When he was a stranger in a Toronto club, Patrick had asked him to “let me give you what you need” and then he  _ had. _ He’d provided aftercare when David had shrugged him off, had made him come spectacularly and kissed him afterwards. And then he arrived in Schitt’s Creek and has been systematically stripping down all of David’s carefully constructed walls ever since. 

When he gets to Patrick’s bedroom he tries to sit on the bed and immediately leaps back up with a gasp. Instead, he maneuvers carefully down until he’s lying on his side, facing the door. Patrick appears in the doorway, cream in one hand and whip in the other, just as his phone beeps from his pocket.

“Please tell me that’s Ray deciding to stay out all night,” David jokes as Patrick tosses the whip under his bed and pulls his phone out with his now-free hand, staring at it for a lot longer than it should take to read a text message. 

“No such luck,” he says eventually and drops the phone on his bedside table with a little more force than is strictly necessary. David wonders about that, but then Patrick walks around the bed so he’s behind him, uncapping the cream. He winds one hand into the hair at the nape of David’s neck and scratches comfortingly while the other rubs antiseptic slowly, carefully into his skin. It hurts like hell but leaves a soothing sensation in its wake, and by the time Patrick has left to wash his hands and come back again, the pain has subsided into more of a dull ache. 

Patrick strips down to just his boxer briefs and climbs into bed, also on his side so they’re facing each other. He reaches out a hand to run softly up and down David’s arm, but doesn’t say anything. 

“So, I think I should explain,” David says as the silence stretches out. When Patrick opens his mouth to protest David shakes his head, cutting him off. “I  _ want _ to explain.”

“Okay,” Patrick replies quietly.

“Um, I didn’t actually realise until tonight that I’ve only ever been whipped while I was rolling,” he says slowly. “And I really enjoyed it then but turns out, getting whipped while I’m not on anything? Does not do it for me.” He closes his eyes, fighting back the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“David, hey,” Patrick slides a hand over his hip, gripping him tightly. “You’re allowed to like or not like anything you want, and I don’t want you to apologise for it. I really, really need you to understand that.”

He pauses and looks meaningfully at David, who nods slowly.

“I don’t have any sort of burning need to whip you, I promise,” Patrick continues. “If you told me our sex life was going to consist of nothing but silent handjobs under the covers from now on I’d still—” he cuts himself off and sucks in a quick breath. “I’d still want to be with you.”

David purses his lips to try and hide the smile spreading across his face. “Okay, I don’t think we need to go quite  _ that _ far,” he says, and Patrick laughs.

There’s another long silence while Patrick strokes small circles into David’s hipbone with his thumb. “Can I ask you something?” he asks finally. “No judgement, I’m just curious.”

David studies his face carefully. The words  _ no judgement _ in bed don’t generally bode well, in his experience — but Patrick looks calm, if inquisitive.

“Sure,” David replies after a moment.

“Why didn’t you realise this before?” Patrick’s brow is furrowed and he’s clearly choosing his words with care. “I understand being high during the actual whipping. But tonight, we only got a few in but the marks look like they’re going to hurt tomorrow— I’m so sorry, David,” he says ruefully and David reaches out a hand, pressing it against his chest.

“Hey, mm-mm, no,” he says. “I consented. You stopped it when I was too much of a stubborn idiot. This is not on you, like, at all.” Patrick raises his eyebrows in disbelief, but he doesn’t interrupt. “And, um, I wasn’t really sober a lot back then.”

“Right, I know,” Patrick replies. “But I meant, you know, when you woke up in the morning. You weren’t like ‘Okay, that hurts, not as fun as I thought last night’?”

David takes a deep, steadying breath. He’s been putting off this conversation for a long time because Patrick says  _ no judgement _ and he means it, but Patrick is also a clean-cut small-town boy who was popular and sporty and on the debate team and whose idea of a raging party is probably that awful one Stevie dragged David to when he first came to town. 

David’s no longer the person he was when he left New York, and that makes it worse. Because while New York David never would have believed himself worthy of the kind of care and attention Patrick gives him unquestioningly, Schitt’s Creek David… well, he can’t believe it either, a lot of the time, but he’s actively trying to, and the slightest possibility of losing it is terrifying. So he’s cloaked references to that part of his life in quips and jokes, but now Patrick is asking directly. 

“Yeah, um,” he starts hesitantly. “I… well, you should ask Stevie what we were all like when we first arrived.”

“Oh, she thought you were assholes,” Patrick says; if he’s surprised by this seeming non sequitur, he doesn’t show it. “She’s not shy about sharing that opinion.”

“No— I mean yeah, we were,” David says with a grimace. “But I meant when we  _ first _ arrived. We were, um, detoxing pretty hard. When I say I wasn’t sober a lot in New York, I mean it would be weeks at a time.”

“Weeks,” Patrick repeats, his voice unreadable. 

“Mm,” David swallows thickly. “And it’s not like I was an addict.”

Patrick’s eyebrows raise in disbelief, and David squirms.

“Okay, well… I never went to rehab or anything like that. It was just the lifestyle, you know? Everyone I knew was doing the same thing. It was just how we partied.” He sounds defensive and he knows it, and tries to will his voice back to calm. “So— it was pretty easy not to realise, I guess.”

He squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to meet Patrick’s gaze. 

“David,” Patrick says, “will you please look at me?”

David takes two deep breaths before he opens his eyes. When he braves a look at Patrick’s face it’s wearing the same warm, fond expression as always.

“I’ve told you before, none of that is a problem for me,” Patrick says, his voice low in his throat. “I mean, it is in that I hate the thought of you being miserable, and all those shitty people using you, but it’s not— I’m not judging you, David, not for any of it. We’ve all got stuff in our pasts we’d rather not deal with — things we’ve done wrong, people we’ve hurt.” His mouth twists at this last one. 

“Mm,” David says. He can’t imagine Patrick hurting anyone, but it’s sweet of him to try and make David feel better. “Well, unless you accidentally set Katy Perry’s living room on fire because you decided it needed more ambience and thought right below the curtains was the perfect place to put candles, I probably have a little bit more to be judged for than you.”

That gets a startled laugh out of Patrick and then he presses even closer to David until their bodies are flush. David looks at his soft smile and realises with a jolt that he doesn’t feel scared or anxious — not any more so than usual, anyway. Maybe… maybe he can just tell Patrick things, even uncomfortable or gross or upsetting things, and not have to worry about him bolting at the first sign of unpleasantness. 

For now, though, David is so, so sick of talking. He leans in and captures Patrick’s mouth with his own, tongue swiping along Patrick’s lips until he opens his mouth. When Patrick moans into his mouth David starts to roll back and pull Patrick on top of him, forgetting for a moment what a phenomenally bad idea that is, but thankfully Patrick grabs his hip firmly and keeps him in place. They stay on their sides, making out until they’re both hard and panting and then for several minutes beyond that, just enjoying the feel of each other. Patrick’s hands never go lower than David’s tailbone, running over his arms and chest and back and shoulders, somehow careful and desperate all at once. When he runs his hands up the back of David’s neck to his hair and tugs David finally breaks the kiss, breathing heavily.

“I need—” he starts, and Patrick nods quickly.

“I know, I know.” He pulls away, smiling slightly at David’s whimper, and reaches blindly behind him for the drawer in the bedside table. After fumbling for a moment his hand finally connects with the handle and he pulls it open and scrabbles around until he holds the lube aloft, triumphant. David opens his mouth, but is cut off by the sound of the front door opening and closing.

They stare at each other for a moment and then Patrick reaches back, flicking off the lamp and plunging them both into darkness. David listens intently to the sounds of Ray moving about downstairs, whistling as he moves through the house, and the fact that he’s not paying attention to Patrick means the slick hand wrapping around his dick makes him jump.

“Shh,” Patrick says quietly, a hidden laugh in his voice as he starts to stroke, tantalisingly slow. David grabs his wrist, pulling his hand away and stroking his own hand along Patrick’s palm, transferring some of the lube onto himself before he works his hand past the band of Patrick’s underwear and takes him in hand, squeezing lightly when Patrick gasps. He matches the pace Patrick started to set before David interrupted him, languid and teasing, and Patrick pushes up into it even as he starts to move his own hand. 

This is familiar; due to their respective living situations the majority of their sex life takes place quietly and in snatched moments, here or in the store or in the car. But despite what David’s experience has led him to believe, with Patrick the familiarity makes it better, hotter — rather than becoming routine and predictable it means they know exactly what the other person likes, how to draw it out or how to bring each other to the brink. There’s a comfort in knowing another person’s body so well that David never knew he could have, let alone appreciate, before Patrick. 

Patrick swipes his thumb over the head of David’s cock, making him swallow a whimper; in retaliation David twists his hand sharply and Patrick bites down on David’s shoulder to muffle a groan. There’s a heavy tread on the stairs and they both freeze as they hear Ray walk past Patrick’s room, pausing for a moment before he carries on to his own room at the end of the hallway. As soon as David hears the bedroom door close he brings his free hand to the back of Patrick’s neck and tugs him closer, tongue plunging into his mouth as he starts moving his hand again, no longer teasing but employing every trick he knows to get Patrick off. To his credit, it only takes Patrick a second to catch up and then he’s jerking David off in return, stroking and squeezing as he kisses back, messy and dirty and so fucking good. 

David’s orgasm hits him with force and unthinkingly, he bites down on Patrick’s lip trying to stay quiet; as soon as he does Patrick thrusts his hips forward hard as he comes all over David’s hand and his own underwear. They press their foreheads together, trying to keep as quiet as possible as they catch their breath. After a minute or so Patrick lets go of David’s softening cock and rolls over, holding his come-covered hand away from the sheets as he grabs the box of tissues with the other hand. He turns back, offering the box to David before taking a few for himself and peeling off his underwear, tossing it in the general direction of the hamper.

As David is cleaning up a snippet of their earlier conversation comes back to him and he lets loose a snort before clamping his mouth shut. 

_ What? _ Patrick mouths with a slightly bewildered smile. 

“Silent handjobs under the covers, right?” David whispers as quietly as he can. Patrick takes a beat to process and then claps a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. 

* * *

Two days later, Stevie is walking into his room with a cookie and a smirk.

“Five whole months, David!” Alexis squeals. “That’s so much longer than any other relationship you’ve ever been in!”

Later that morning, Patrick tells him to trust people. David thinks about the quiet acceptance when he told Patrick about his New York days, about the way Patrick safeworded out when it became apparent David wasn’t going to even though he should have, and he thinks,  _ maybe I do. _

Later still, Patrick leaves David and his mom to talk in the town hall, but not before smacking him with a clipboard right where one of the lashes has bloomed into a beautiful bruise, causing him to suck in a quick breath. From the teasing grin on his face, Patrick knew exactly what he was doing — and from his mom’s expression, she has a fair idea as well, which, ew.

“He sees you for all that you are,” she says, and David thinks,  _ maybe he does. _

And then it all falls apart.

* * *

David notices two things about Rachel as he stumbles up from the table and past her to his room.

The first is that she’s pretty. Like, really pretty. Head-turningly pretty.

The second is that her gaze sharpens when David winces slightly as he stands up, her eyes narrowing at his stiff gait before they widen in recognition.

_ “The BDSM stuff. That was the only part of our relationship that felt easy.” _

She knows what she’s looking at, because she did this too. With Patrick. Her  _ fiancé. _

David’s breath is coming in rasps when Patrick comes barrelling into the room, closing the door behind him.

“David, I need to explain a couple of things,” he starts, and David whirls around to face him.

“Um, what would be the main one, do you think?” he demands, shoving down the hysteria bubbling up in his chest. He doesn’t know whether it’s going to come out as laughter or tears, if he lets it, and he doesn’t want to do either of those things in front of Patrick right now.

“Okay. Um, Rachel and I were engaged but I called it off before I moved here—”

David was on the verge of saying something like  _ you don't need to explain yourself _ but ‘before I moved here’ has him feeling slightly sick. “How long before you moved here?”

“I don’t know, a few—” Patrick’s face drops suddenly. “Oh, no, David, no no no. Before I went to the club, before I met you, I swear. I didn’t— I would never.” 

He looks so aghast that David can’t help but believe him, and he nods quickly, his lips pressed tight together as he gestures wordlessly for Patrick to continue.

Patrick takes a deep breath and sits on the end of Alexis’ bed. “Okay. We got together when we were in high school, and we've been on and off ever since. I don't know, we always just sort of fell back into it. Anyway, she's been reaching out and, uh, expecting us to get back together for the past few months—” 

“Whoa. Over the last few  _ months?” _ David interrupts. “And you didn't think to tell me about this?” He has a horrible, sinking realisation. “Is that who texted you at Ray’s the other night?”

Patrick swallows hard, then nods tightly.

David shakes his head. “You stood in front of me and told me to  _ trust _ people,” he croaks.

Patrick looks away from him for the first time since he entered the room. “I know.”

“When I was perfectly fine not trusting people,” he continues as if Patrick hadn’t spoken. “Not trusting people is what I'm used to. It is my comfort zone. But suddenly I’m telling you things about New York that I never talk about, and the next thing I know there's an oversized cookie on my doorstep and you're telling me that I have nothing to worry about.” There’s a tightness in his chest that he hasn’t felt since the embarrassing panic attack incident and he employs every breathing technique he knows, determined not to fall apart now.

“I didn't want it to affect what we have, okay?” Patrick says, leaping to his feet and walking towards David without actually touching him. “And I mean it when I tell you that you have  _ nothing _ to worry about. I told you the night I met you, there was only one part of my relationship with her that ever felt easy, and it was never enough.” 

David folds his arms over his chest, not particularly interesting in hearing more about that. 

“No matter how hard I tried with her, it just never felt right,” Patrick continues quietly. “And up until recently, I didn’t understand why. David, I've spent most of my life not knowing what right was supposed to feel like, and then I met you and everything changed. You make me feel right, David.”

Something explodes in David’s stomach at that; joy and hurt and fondness and terror, all at once.

“That,” he forces out through the lump in his throat, “is quite possibly one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard anyone say. Um, outside of the Downton Christmas special.”

“It's the truth,” Patrick says simply. And David believes him, which somehow makes it worse.

“I know,” he says. “It’s just that my truth is that I am damaged goods. And this has really messed things up for me. And I think I need some time with it.”

Patrick’s face falls. “All right,” he says softly, and turns away. 

He’s almost at the door when David’s resolve cracks. “Actually,” he starts, and Patrick whirls around.

And, no. Patrick walking away hurts, but David wasn’t lying. He really does need time to sort out the mess in his head.

“Um,” Patrick is still looking at him with a hopeful look on his face, and David blurts out the first thing he can think of. “I haven't had dinner yet, so…”

A number of unreadable expressions shift over Patrick’s face in a moment. “I'll grab you a slider,” he offers. 

“More than one?” God, why is David  _ pushing _ this? “And some potato salad. And I think there were some other sides on the table but I couldn’t see, so maybe just a smattering of everything.”  _ Shut up, shut up, shut UP, _ he thinks to himself.

Patrick bites his lip for a long moment. “Okay,” he says eventually. “Okay.”

He closes the door, and David is alone.

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know, I'm sorry. Blame Dan Levy, not me. Everything will be okay, canon says so.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Come and find me on [Tumblr](http://yourbuttervoicedbeau.tumblr.com).


End file.
